These Quiet Times
by ivorykeys09
Summary: If there's a word to describe what's going on inside him, inside her, it's... finally. Sloan & Don oneshots. Post 2x09.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Newsroom or any of its characters.**

* * *

The entire office is buzzing with excitement. Drinks are flowing, hugs are being given, Leona's got her feet up on the desk, the Rockette is teaching Tess how to high-kick, Charlie can't stop smiling, Reese is still defending his 'noble' decision, President Obama is staying put for another four years, Mac and Will are surprisingly—yet unsurprisingly—engaged, Sloan kissed him...

Sloan _kissed_ him.

Sloan...

_That _on top of everything else should've made this the most amazing night. A night to celebrate and drink champagne and chill out with the team for a few hours.

And yet he's in his office, the lights off, the door shut, and with a head that feels like it's about to crack open from pain. The headache came out of nowhere, annoyingly, once he remembered that while no one was resigning, there was still a lawsuit. And not just the one against ACN, but _him_.

_Fucking Dantana_, he thinks, lowering his head onto his desk. He's pretty sure the millions of thoughts racing through his head are about to send him over the edge, but he can't pinpoint exactly when. Fifty bucks on three minutes from now.

Sprawled across his desk are Internet printouts of what is essentially Lawsuits for Dummies, but the paper feels cool against his forehead. The noise level outside was what had sent him in his office in the first place, and he's glad to notice that it's finally lowering to just murmurs. He almost wants to look through the window to see how many people are left, but that would require lifting his head and opening his eyes and yeah, it feels like too much work right now.

He's saved from it though, because his door opens anyway. There's no knock; just the click of the handle unlatching and gentle clack of the closure.

He hears tip-toeing across the carpet, tentative pitter-pattering of feet, before feeling the desk shake a little with sudden weight. Something was placed about a foot from his head and he's pretty positive it's the book she'd signed for him.

He knows it's Sloan. He doesn't need to lift his head or open his eyes to confirm this—he just knows it. He can sense the way she moves around the room, can smell the subtle, sweet aroma of her violet and honeysuckle perfume that he's come to love, can recognize that calm feeling that invades his body whenever she's near. His head suddenly aches a little less. But then something slams to the ground.

"Shit!" she whispers, padding across the room once more.

He chuckles, the sound low in his throat. "What are you doing?" His words are muffled—his face is still lying on the desk, after all.

"You're not asleep?" She sounds surprised, but her voice lifts a little in relief.

"No."

He listens to the slight ruffle of clothing and can picture her picking up the fallen item before standing once again.

"Can I ask something?"

He still stays face-down. "Go for it."

"I'm trying to come up with possible reasons why you're hiding in your office on a night like tonight, and I've come up with some finalists. Exhibit A: You're mad about Mac and Will. You think it'll ruin the dynamic and rapport of the news team, and so you're ignoring them because you're too nice to ruin their happy night. Exhibit B: You're pissed about the election results, which I'd be surprised at because I pegged you for a Democrat. Exhibit C: You're pissed at Neal for looking into who bought my book. Which wouldn't be fair, by the way, because I told him to do that and he was just following my orders. Exhibit D: You're mad at me. I inappropriately kissed you in front of the sound team and Mac and Tess and—"

"Sloan?" he interrupts. My god this woman could talk.

"Yeah?" she answers softly, voice wavering with nerves and adrenaline.

"Please stop."

"Okay," she obliges.

He can hear her footsteps tentatively walk towards the door.

"Don't leave."

She sounds relieved when she replies, "Oh. Okay." She waits another beat before adding, "Wait, what's...happening right now?"

His brain is still pounding, but he needs to see her, so he slowly opens his eyes and raises his head. It takes a few seconds for his gaze to get used to the dark room; his vision is blurry and it adds another level of pain to the mix, but it dampens the second he focuses on her. She's still in her broadcast clothes, still in that cap-sleeved black dress that does absolutely nothing but amazing things to her figure. The v-neck is lower than what she normally wears on the air—she's always very particular about the appropriateness of her wardrobe—but he finds no reason to complain about that right now.

"I have a headache," he explains simply.

Sloan's eyes soften. "I'm sorry," she says, genuine concern laced through her tone.

"Me too." He gives her a small smile to show her that he wants her here.

"So it's not because of any of those reasons I just listed?"

She's still nervous, he can tell. "Come here," Don asks.

She walks towards him, but still keeps rambling out of habit. "Because I know you may be worried about Will and Mac, but Don...it's true love! You can't be mad at them! I mean—"

Once she's close enough, he takes her hand and pulls her on his lap. It's not very graceful and her dress is on the verge of ripping, but he doesn't care. She's finally quiet and in his arms.

"I'm not mad at the Macs."

She huffs out a laugh. "The Macs. That's cute."

"I'm not mad at Neal, and I'm not mad about Obama. You're right, by the way. I vote Blue."

Her shoulders lift, eyes flirt with him. "I have a gift."

His hands find their way to her waist and he smiles when she suddenly breathes in. "And I'm definitely not mad about the kiss."

It takes _that_ for her to finally relax. The tension visibly seeps out of her shoulders and face at his words. "You're not?"

He gently tucks her hair behind her ear, simply because he can. His hands are moving at their own volition at this point. "No, I'm not," he confirms, admiring the way her eyes crinkle with happiness.

She sighs, "Good," and finally smiles wide. Somewhere in the time between the show sign-off and now she's painted a fresh coat of red on her lips. It's his favorite color on her, as far as lipsticks go, but he still really wants to kiss off.

"My head just hurts, that's all. I needed a break. From them, not you."

She tilts her head to the side, looks at him fondly, and softly trails a hand through his hair. It takes everything in him not to moan at the feeling, but it feels too damn good. The gentle back-and-forth movement of her palm lulls his head towards her chest, and he closes his eyes in relief. He can't even take the time to think about the fact that Sloan Sabbith is touching him or that his head is against her breasts. He just revels in the easing ache and diminishing pain and the feeling of being able to breathe for the first time in twelve hours.

He doesn't know how long they sit there like that, but she just continues weaving her fingers in soothing, dancing motions until her lips skirt the top of his head. She presses a kiss in the bed of his hair, lingering her mouth on the spot for a moment. Then, palms cradling his ears, she pulls him away from her, smirking at his lackluster protest. Minding his aching head, she gently tilts it up so she can look at him again.

Her lips touch his forehead first, raining soft kisses across it as if it'll erase the pain, before lowering to his mouth. The first time she did this, hours ago, it was hard, to-the-point, and way too short.

This time, she takes the opportunity to revel in it. Drown in it. Lose herself in _him_. His lips are still so new, still so very different, but there's a familiarity about them that uncoils something deep inside her. It's as if they've been doing this for years.

Don gently pulls her closer, and when her legs part around his waist, he silently thanks Sloan's outfit addition. He hadn't realized it before, but while she's still wearing the dress, she's also put leggings on underneath.

(The temperature in the studio is always kept at a cool 63 degrees—no matter what—because the lights add so much warmth at the desk. Since starting at ACN, Sloan has complained about it to him every third commercial break, but always waits to put on leggings until after the show's over on particularly cold days. Never mind the fact that she could always have them on under the desk and the audience would never know otherwise.)

He's happy now, though, because her dress rises easily up on her hips, allowing him to wrap her even closer. The little noise she makes when their tongues touch drives him a little wild. He instinctively tightens his hold of her, as his hips cant against her and his hands trail up her bowed spine. He's positively dizzy with emotion.

If there's a word to describe what's going on inside him, inside her, it's... _finally_.

The hand wrapped around his neck is teasing and a little ticklish, and he gives himself away when he laughs against her lips. When she pulls back, Sloan's face is flushed and dazed, but she still smiles triumphantly; she's proud of herself for unearthing a weak spot so soon into this whole thing. Pride swells inside him too, though, when he notices her smudged and significantly faded lipstick he's kissed off her mouth. It lessens a tad when he realizes where it is now, but she takes care of that by brushing her thumb across his lips to wipe it off. Her fingers continue to trail around his skin, as if mapping the planes of his face into her memory, and he takes the moment to catch his breath.

"Why does your head hurt?" she asks softly.

He lets out a frustrated sigh. "Lots of things. The lawsuit, the hundreds of numbers I read tonight, the pressure of making sure everything ran smoothly, the fact that I haven't eaten in hours. That fucking music Neal started blaring out there."

She laughs. "Did you drink?"

He nods, annoyed at himself. "Yeah. A few sips of champagne."

"That never helps."

"Yeah, it made it worse. I need water."

"You need sleep."

"That too."

She leans towards his body, but diverts his lips, instead reaching over to the shelf behind his chair. Since her neck is in the perfect spot, he presses his mouth to the skin underneath her ear, smiling against her when she sighs at the feeling. She lets him lavish the spot for a few more seconds, even craning her neck further to help him, but pulls away after a moment.

He makes a noise in protest when she lifts off his lap, before propping herself up on the desk behind her. Her legs still dangle on either side of his, so he's not totally disappointed, but he watches patiently as she pivots to grab something. When she twists back around he takes the red Solo cup she hands him.

"Here."

"What is it?"

"Water."

"Oh."

She drops three Advil in his palm and points behind him. "There was a bottle on your shelf."

He takes them immediately, wondering how he didn't remember he had it—he always has Advil. The condensation on the cup makes the water feel colder than it actually is, but it's still just what he needs. It tastes good.

When he finishes the whole thing, she takes the cup back and sets it aside.

"Thanks," he says.

She gives his cheek a little caress and nods towards the door. "We're the last ones here." When he doesn't answer, she adds, "And we need to be back here in four hours."

He groans, running a hand over his face. "Fuck me."

It's out of his mouth before he realizes, and he shakes his head. "I meant—"

Her eyes soften, but she's definitely still amused. "I know what you meant."

Don looks at her gratefully. "Thanks."

She gives a smug grin. "I mean, I _would_ like to fuck you."

He groans again, "_Jesus,_ Sloan."

"Not tonight," she continues, relishing his reaction. "But yeah, I think that should happen sometime."

His face echoes what it looked like in the control room after she first kissed him. "Yeah. Okay."

"Okay," she repeats, pulling her legs up and twisting to get off the desk. "Let's go."

His mind is still catching up from that conversation, and his head swims when he stands, but he still manages to ask, "Where?"

"My hotel. I convinced Charlie to get me a room for election week. With the long hours it's too far to travel all the way home every night. It's across the street."

"He should do that for everyone," Don mutters, pulling on his coat.

She frowns. "But then it wouldn't be special for me."

The adjoining room next to her's is available, so Don ends up booking that one for the night. While the sleeping arrangements and extremely close proximity to Sloan had sounded more than tempting, the idea of a king bed to himself after the week he's had sounds even better. She's not even offended by the gesture, knowing she has a well-deserved, giant bed to herself, too.

They keep the connecting door between their rooms open while he showers and she orders dinner. The kitchen isn't thrilled by their request, but delivers grilled cheeses on the promise of a hefty tip from Sloan. They eat on the floor of her room and take turns dunking their crusts into the shared bowl of tomato soup. They're both too tired to talk, so they watch the news instead, barely registering what the reporter is even saying.

When they finish, Don turns off the tv and takes the tray out to the hallway, before walking back into her room. Her robe is on the floor, and she's under the covers, but he knows she's still got pajamas on.

He picks it up and drapes it over the chair. "I was too tired to do that," she explains.

"I know." He walks over to the door again and shuts off her lights. The reading lamp beside her is still on, though, so he can still see her face under the glow.

"Why did you buy it?"

He's been waiting for this all night, but is still unprepared to answer it. He brushes it off, "I don't know."

"Yes you do," she accuses.

He smiles at that. "Yes, I do." He leans against the doorway, equidistant between his bed and hers. They are both so tempting.

He finds her eyes. "I wanted to have a piece of you to myself. And...selfishly...I wanted to take away that chance from anyone else that night."

She ponders that for a beat. "You didn't need to buy the book to do that, Don."

He shrugs. "It was the easiest way. Well, _then_." She stays silent, so he adds, "It was also for charity. That's a good enough reason."

"I guess," she agrees. "I like the first reason better, though." She sits up, the action dropping the sheets to her waist, and then gets out of bed. It's dark, but Don can still make out the tank top and shorts she has on, and he feels something similar to _honor_ thrum through his bones. His heart beats at the distinct privilege of seeing her like this: she's allowing him to see her in her pajamas, face free of make-up, body drowsy with fatigue, words totally unfiltered... Sloan at her very core. He knows she doesn't let many people see her like this.

She meets him in the doorway, wraps her arms around his waist, and gets as close as she can to him. For a moment she just looks at him, but then finally leans in.

She kisses him soundly, lips sliding over his with a comfort only recently gained, but with a fervor she's not sure she'll ever get used to. It's lazy and romantic, with just the sounds of their stilted breaths as the soundtrack, but she adores it as much as the other times they've done it. It takes all her strength to pull away, but she does so to simply hug him. "Thank you," she whispers against his shoulder.

He kisses her cheek and she hums in content.

"Go to bed," she orders. She's back under the covers in seconds.

"I hope I'm able to fall asleep," he sighs. She'd worked him up again.

"You will be. I can tell." She grins wide. "And if you can't...just read the first chapter of my book. Knowing you, you'll be out in two seconds." She switches off the reading light.

Don smiles softly. "Goodnight, Sloan."

"Goodnight, Don."

* * *

**A/N: I may add to this story in the coming months. Just little one-shots here and there, snapshots of them together, etc. Would you be interested?**

**I'm still getting used to writing their characters, so hopefully I'm getting them right. ****I always appreciate reviews!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Newsroom or any of its characters.**

* * *

The rest of November goes by quickly. He still has to deal with the lawsuit, but anything after the election, honestly, seems easy. The workload diminishes by about twenty hours a week and everyone is actually able to go home at a reasonable hour. It's heavenly.

So is Sloan.

The best part about Sloan picking that _exact_ night to kiss him, (finally), was that it had happened the same night Will and Mac got engaged. Because the attention was taken completely off of them and focused entirely on the newly betrothed.

Pre-kiss and post-kiss are pretty much the same, save for a few small differences. They still go to Hang Chews with the rest of the team, with Don usually joining much later than Sloan most days, but he sits next to her instead of across the bar. They talk just as much, if not a little more, and go to dinner when they can. He's spent a total of one nights at her place, while she's spent two at his, and it's...nice. They're not rushing it, but while they're not taking things at a glacial pace, there's definitely an unspoken feeling of _this is all...so...right._

He knows he should've asked her out ages ago, and mentally kicks himself whenever Sloan reminds him of that fact, but since it ended up happening, he's just grateful. Because he and Sloan? It's awesome. She's fun and flirty and sexy as hell and makes him feel like he's a good guy. And even though sometimes he still feels like he isn't—even after her many speeches proving that yes, in fact, he _is_—he wants to be an even better one for her.

She's also whip smart. Not just book smart, but street smart. He almost feels dumb around her, but then she'll ask Tess something like, _Did you watch Real Housewives last night? When is Slade going to man up and propose?_ and he takes her down a few notches closer to his level. He doesn't know who the fuck Slade—or is it Blaze?—is, but he doesn't really care.

The biggest difference, though, is sex.

They have it now.

The mornings with her are his favorite, though. Because it's just them.

It's the second week of December, Wednesday morning, and Sloan's in his bed. They've already read the paper and had two cups of coffee, but she's still feeling unusually sluggish.

She yawns and stretches out like a cat next to him, burrowing deeper into his covers as she does so. His white duvet is fluffy and warm and she's pretty glad she'd skipped her run this morning. She'd usually regret it, but he woke her up in a way that easily filled her cardio goal for the day, so she doesn't really care.

Don looks at her in amusement, appreciating the way her top rises up and exposes her tan skin. "You gotta get going soon."

"I know," she says, scrunching her nose. "I have to shower first."

He leans over and kisses her collarbone, then shoulder. "Maybe I'll join you."

She sucks in a breath, dragging her fingers through his hair to keep him in place, and sighs, _"Yes."_

As he moves up her neck both of their iPads and phones sound off in a chorus. She groans when he pulls away to grab his cell.

"What time do you go in today?" she asks, inwardly jealous he gets an extra few hours at home in the morning. She supposes she could, too, if she gave up teaching, but she loves her annoying students too much for that to happen.

He ignores her question, so she shuts her eyes for a moment. She has three minutes before she has to get in the shower and she fully intends to use them. "Don?" She hears him turn on the tv.

"Fuck," he bites out, jumping out of bed.

She opens her eyes and sits up. "What the—?"

He throws her his phone and points to the tv. "We're sharing a cab. I'm going in now."

She takes one look at the screen. All she reads is _Breaking News: Shots Fired at Elementary School_ and she's out of bed in an instant. Don's already got his shirt on and is pulling up his jeans by the time she locates her bra and so she picks up the pace. He heads into the living room and she hears him ask, "Mac? What the fuck is going on?"

She looks in the mirror and instantly feels sorry for her hairdresser. Today...a ponytail will just have to do.

Five minutes later they're in the taxi, politely begging the driver to go as fast as possible. Sloan's got her phone between her ear and shoulder, listening in on the conference Mac and Will are giving the team, while checking her iPad for any updates from sources. Don's busy watching the news on the television in the cab, scanning his own phone simultaneously, but the volume is broken and he looks five seconds away from punching something. The images of crying, ghost-faced children running out of the school is enough though, and she's silently glad they can't hear anything.

The conference ends when they're ten blocks away, and so she tells Don the cliff notes version: only one suspected gunman, he's still inside, shots are still firing, no confirmed victim count. It's horrific.

Don shakes his head, visibly stewing. "Who the fuck walks into a school and shoots a bunch of kids? What kind of fucker could do that sort of thing?"

The driver looks at him in the rear-view mirror with worried eyes. He clearly has no idea what's going on.

Sloan rests her hand on his thigh, gently squeezes it in comfort. "I don't know," she says to no one in particular.

This day is gonna suck.

**.**

**.**

**.**

It's one of the worst days they've ever covered. The video footage, the audio of screams, the eye-witness reports...all of it is horrible. After one segment, Elliot practically runs from the room, ripping off his earpiece while doing so; Don finds him in the makeup chair, eyes red, voice shaky, and on the phone with his wife. He's one of the only members of the team, besides Charlie and some sound guys, who has kids. But with a daughter in third grade and a son in first, it just hits too close to home. When he catches Don standing in the doorway, Don simply nods in understanding, wordlessly giving him a few minutes to collect himself.

Don and Mac, for once, seem to have the easy jobs of the night. It's one thing to hear the reports, but another to actually repeat it over and over again to millions of viewers. Mac is extra fidgety all day, Don practically paces a hole into the carpet. Both are just in awe of Sloan, Elliott, and Will, who stoically put their emotions aside and report in a way that truly proves their professionalism. It's a damn good thing no one had resigned or quit; their value and talent in the face of catastrophe is simply unmatched.

It's midnight when they finally pack up to leave. They'll be covering it again tomorrow, as well as the memorials in the coming days, so Will forces everyone to go home to sleep. They are emotionally wiped out, so there isn't an utter of complaint.

Sloan has barely talked to Don all day, other than responding to cues and directions, and she wonders where he is as she packs up her bag. It's not entirely unusual for them to go hours without talking at work, especially on busy days, but today it hits her a little harder. She'd bottled up her emotions to get through each segment, barely taking a break to eat or touch up her makeup, all day. She knows it won't take much for her to crack, and she's a little afraid of what will happen when she does.

She's making her way down the stairs into the bullpen when she sees him. There are only a few people left, so it's not hard to spot him: he's standing behind Neal, who's sitting down pointing at his computer screen. As she steps closer, she notices they're looking at a video.

"What are you watching?" she asks, letting her bag slip off her shoulder and onto the floor. Everything feels so heavy today.

Neal turns around to look at her. "Some idiot made a video about how Sandy Hook was planned and put on by some of the parents."

Don rolls his eyes, clearly disinterested, but still watches the clip.

Her insides churn with rage. "Conspiracy theorists always come out of the woodwork for tragedies like this. But why the fuck are you two even _giving _this the time of day? Children died today. Teachers died today!"

Neal pauses the video, standing up with a huff. "I didn't say I agreed with what it said, but I _do _need to watch it."

She throws up her hands. "It's a waste of time!"

"It's my job to scour the internet for relevant material on what we report, whether it's right or wrong, supportive or opposing, factual or opinion-based. In this case...sure, do I think it's wrong? You're damn right I do. But that's technically not for me to decide, Sloan." He lets out a frustrated breath and adds, "And considering this is my job...? No. It's not a waste of my time." He sits down hard, making his chair roll a few inches away from the desk.

Don just closes his eyes and rubs his hands over his face. Sloan's struck silent for a moment, but she really doesn't even know what to say. She feels Don slip his hand through hers and watches him pick up her bag.

"Come on, Sabbith," he says quietly, flashing Neal an apologetic glance.

She lets him drag her towards the elevator bank, but takes her bag once they get there. She roots through it for her phone and then dials immediately. He answers after the second ring. "Hey... I'm sorry. I was out of line." She glances over at Don, who's looking at her with those soft, kind eyes of his, and feels herself start to crack. "I'll see you tomorrow. Yeah, you too. Night."

She hangs up when the doors open and, once inside, steps into Don's open arms. "I was a jerk," she says, voice muffled by his shoulder.

"It was a long day. He gets it."

"And yet _you're _not acting like one."

He smirks. "Do you want me to? Because babe, if that's what you're in to..."

She smacks his shoulder, awarding him a small smile for his efforts. When they reach ground level, she steps out of his embrace and takes his hand again to walk outside. He flags her a cab once they get to the sidewalk. She's got an early class tomorrow, so she'll to go to her place tonight.

The taxi pulls up. She frowns at it with watery eyes. "I hate today."

Don looks at her sympathetically. "Me too," he replies. "Tomorrow will be better." He leans in to press his lips to hers, since it's the only thing he can think of to make her feel better.

She sighs into his mouth, sinking into his arms for one last moment, then ends the kiss with a few short pecks.

The loose strands of her hair fly over her face from the wind, so he pushes them behind her ear. "I'll see you tomorrow."

He texts her a few minutes later: _Pour yourself a glass of wine, eat a bowl of ice cream, GO TO BED, wake up, and go for a run before class. That'll do it._

She smiles. There's only ice cream in her freezer because of _him, _but she'll indulge anyway since it's been one of those days.

The next morning—after her (suggested) morning run, class, and two unnecessary-but-mandatory staff meetings—she's finally in the makeup chair. She should be reading up on emails and going over her notes, but it's the only time today where she can get away with shutting her eyes for a few minutes, so she does just that. Jen, her makeup lady, flits routinely around her, used to doing this every day, and the calming back-and-forth strokes of the blush and eye shadow brushes easily lull Sloan into relaxation.

She hears the door open and Jen say, "Hey Don."

"Hey," comes his voice.

Sloan feels him walk to stand behind her and even though she wants to open her eyes, she can't now. Eyeliner is being drawn on.

Don waits patiently for Jen to finish and leave the room, then locks eyes with Sloan through the mirror when she finally opens them. "Morning," she says, giving him a tired smile.

He spins the chair around so she'll face him. He leans his hands on the armrests, bending over slightly to be more eye-level with her, and replies, "Hi." Even though he wants to, he can't kiss her. Because the one time he did that, it wrecked her makeup and he suddenly had three women mad at him: Jen, for having to re-do it, Mac, because he'd made Sloan late, and Sloan, for not being able to finish what he'd started. Lesson learned.

"It'll be another rough one."

She sighs. "A news story hasn't bummed me out like this since...I don't know when." She shakes her head. "I mean, it's just _sad_."

Nodding back, he straightens and puts his hand out to help her stand. "Three minutes to air."

They part to go to their respective stations, Sloan to the desk and Don to the control room. She greets Will as she places in her earpiece, just in time for Mac to speak into it.

"Will's opening and passing it off to a reporter on the ground in Connecticut, then he'll throw to you for a teaser on Segment C. Got it?"

Sloan nods at the camera like it's Mac. "Copy."

She scans her iPad for a few minutes, keeping one ear listening to the broadcast, until Will turns to her.

"Surely we're going to be seeing some change in security measures within schools and stricter gun legislation. But what kind of economic effect will we see happen, Sloan?"

She faces Will, first. "The Aurora theater shooting this past July pushed the topic of gun control into the forefronts of lawmaker's minds, but this tragedy in Newtown is certainly going to put even_ more_ pressure on the issue." Turning to the camera she continues, "First, and almost immediately, I'm predicting a rise in gun sales. With the threat of regulated and stricter gun laws—meaning background checks, permit and license mandates, and concealment requirements—weapon enthusiasts are going to rush to purchase more firearms while they can. Furthermore, ACN and its sources are anticipating a plunge in several gun manufacture shares after the events of yesterday. I'll have all information on what you can expect on that and more coming up."

"Thirty seconds," Mac says in her ear.

She's at the desk most of the day covering new updates with Will, then ends with her usual few minutes on _News Night._ She waves Don goodbye through the glass panels, with him smiling in return, and grabs her things from her office. Grocery shopping, picking up her dry-cleaning, and a call to her parents are on the list of things to do for the night—since it's Thursday—but she decides to choose just one. She's in the mood for Chinese, so she orders that for delivery on the way home, and since she'd sneaked her clothes from home into Wardrobe's dry-cleaning pile at work, she doesn't need to get that tonight. One of the interns will get them tomorrow.

At home, she picks up around the house, tidying weekly messes that have gathered since the weekend, before indulging in the long, hot shower she couldn't have this morning. The water at the gym was so tepid she'd been in and out in two minutes. She cranks up the heat, since the weather is officially freezing outside, and bundles up in her softest sweatshirt and flannel pants. _The Daily Show _on_,_ she settles in front of the tv with a carton of lo mein in one hand, chopsticks in the other, and the newspaper on her lap.

She finally relaxes.

Even as tired as she is, she still feels like it was a successful day. Her students were extra participatory today; they'd asked the kind of intriguing questions that pumped her teacher-heart extra fast and tempted her to make the questions on the final a little harder. And even though school shootings aren't the easiest thing to cover on-air, it'd made her feel damn proud of what she does for a living.

The lo mein is also off-the-charts good tonight and just what she needs after a long few days.

A knock sounds on the door, timed perfectly with a commercial break on the show, and she groans as she gets up. She was really comfortable.

When the door opens, he smiles wide. Standing before him is Sloan, dressed in an over-sized sweatshirt, soft flannel pants, her geeky-but-somehow-sexy glasses, and Chinese in her hand.

She looks surprised. "Hey!"

"Hi."

"I didn't know you were coming."

He lifts the duffle in his hand. "I packed a bag this morning."

She smiles. "Oh, okay. Cool." She still doesn't move out of the way, and as much as he loves looking at her like this—all casual and cute—his bones are now frozen.

Don gestures inside. "It's really cold, so can I...?"

"Oh! Yeah, sure." She laughs at herself, shaking her head to clear her thoughts. She's genuinely surprised to see him, but really happy he's here. He gives her a brief kiss in the doorway, before moving inside to drop his bag.

Muting the tv, she plops down on the couch again, this time with her head against the pillowed armrest and her legs curled under her, and gets comfortable. She wordlessly hands him the carton when he sits at her feet, and watches him move the chopsticks around before taking a big bite.

"How did it go tonight? I couldn't watch."

He sets the noodles on the coffee table and pulls her legs onto his lap, moving her closer to him. "Good. What'd you do? You smell good."

She smiles, then reaches out to take his hand. "Thanks. I showered, cleaned up around the house, called my parents."

"How are they?"

"Worried about me, as always. Especially this week." She rolls her eyes lovingly. "But they're good. I'm excited to see them at Christmas."

"Are they coming here or are you headed out there?" Her parents live just outside of San Francisco, and while she loves the city, he knows she loves a snowy Christmas more.

"They're coming here." She plays with his fingers and avoids his eyes for a second. "I was actually going to talk to you about that."

Don grins, knowing what's coming. "About what?"

"When they come to town, would you like to meet them?" He opens his mouth to respond, but she cuts him off. "You don't _have_ to...I mean, I don't even know if you'll be in town. But since we're a...thing now, I figured... Well, you'll be with your family, I'm sure. But they only come a few times a year, so I thought—"

He tugs her hands, pulling her to sit up and—thankfully—stop talking. By the look on his face, she tries not to smile, but fails miserably; her cheeks grow rosier by the second. He moves his hands to her neck, skims a thumb across her cheek, and then presses his lips softly to hers. She tastes like soy sauce and red wine and he revels in the feeling of Sloan Sabbith melting in his arms. It's pretty fantastic.

When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against hers, letting their noses touch for a moment, before kissing her once more.

She seems a little breathless when they part, and he's still not used to the feeling of _I did that. _

"Yeah, I'd like to meet them. I _really_ want to meet them, actually."

Her green eyes sparkle as she lies back against the pillow again. "Yeah?"

"Yes."

"Okay. I'll tell them."

"Good."

He pulls her back onto his lap again so she's straddling him, liking it better this way than when she's on the other end of the couch. Running his hands up her back, he leans in to kiss the sensitive spot on her neck. "So we're a thing now?" Sloan nods as his lips move to her jaw.

She sucks in a breath. "Yeah." The way her hips grind against his has him groaning into her collarbone and he slips his hands under her sweatshirt to feel her warm skin.

She slides off his lap before he can get any further, then stands in front of him. "Come on." She holds out her hand. "Let's forget about this terrible week by having mind-blowing sex. Besides, we have to celebrate."

"Celebrate what?"

"That we're a thing now." She purses her lips in thought, then nods approvingly. "I like that."

Don furrows his brow, amused, but far too turned on _not_ to say yes. So he takes her hand and follows her upstairs to do just that.

He likes where this is going.

* * *

**A/N: I'm so humbled by the response the first chapter got! I'm so happy you all like this story idea.**

**I appreciate any and all reviews.**

**ps. Sandy Hook is such a sensitive topic; I hope you find that I treated it with respect.**


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